


Tantric (It's a Thing)

by jsmith69



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autofellatio, Daryl is a little bit sassy, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bottom!daryl, if you tilt your head and squint, maybe a little plot and feelings, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsmith69/pseuds/jsmith69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve worked together going on two years now and they’ve become good friends.  But only at work.  They never hang out together, just the two of them.  Daryl wishes they did.</p><p>He’s rough and gruff on a good day.  He’s kind and funny and loyal to a fault.  He’s had feelings for Daryl for some time now and he’s starting to wonder if Daryl might have some of those same feelings for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Setup

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this is what happens when Daryl gets talked into getting a massage. 
> 
> I'll be posting one chapter a day for three days.
> 
> This is unbeta-ed, so any mistakes are mine. I hope you enjoy!

Daryl is dog tired. It’s Saturday, normally his day off, and it’s been one hell of a long fucking week. He’s put in close to sixty hours working outside and Georgia in June is hotter than a hooker’s doorknob on payday. He doesn’t like to complain too much though. He loves his job as maintenance supervisor at the country club. It’s the best job he’s ever had and he’s thankful to have it. 

The annual charity golf tournament is this weekend and he and his crew have spent the week busting their asses to make sure the grounds are perfectly manicured, doing maintenance on all the golf carts, the pool and the facilities, setting up tents and temporary bleachers, and whatever else the suits around here have been running around in a panic to get done. Today, they’ve spent the entire day basically cleaning up behind people that should know how to clean up behind themselves for Christ’s sake, keeping trash barrels emptied, and generally keeping the grounds as presentable as possible with a few thousand people milling about.

Once all of their equipment is put away and he’s said his goodbyes to his crew Daryl locks up the maintenance building and gets in his truck, making the short drive up to the main building and parking around back. He’d really like nothing more than to go home to his little cabin on the lake and take a hot shower, drink a couple of beers, and fall into bed. He’s got tomorrow and Monday off and he’s anxious to get his weekend started. Instead he heads for the employee entrance and through the lower floor to the employee locker room. He’ll shower here and then head upstairs to the spa.

For the last four months he’s been going to the spa every two weeks. Beth Greene works there as a masseuse and since she’s the closest thing to a sister he’s ever had, she’s managed to talk him into letting her give him a massage. She’d begged him for two solid months and promised he wouldn’t be sorry and he’d fought her tooth and nail. 

Dixons do not get massages. 

Eventually though she’d worn him down. He likes to think he only gave in so he wouldn’t have to hear about it anymore, but the truth is he just can’t say no to her or her sister, Maggie. Lord knows he’s tried more than once, but in the end he doesn’t think there’s much of anything he wouldn’t do for them. So with her promise that if he didn’t like it she wouldn’t mention it again he’d tucked his tail and showed up. 

Next thing he knew he was wearing a fluffy white robe (he’ll deny til his last breath that he called it the comfiest thing he’s ever worn) and then he was face down on a table with nothing but a towel draped over his bare ass. He could only imagine the hundred kinds of hell Merle would give him if he were here to witness it. Afterwards though, he wondered why he’d waited two whole months because she was right, it was fucking amazing and he’d never felt better than when he’d walked out of that room. His only hard and fast rule is that she be the only one to work on him. He gets along fine with Zach and Spencer, the other two masseurs. Well, he tolerates them. But he’ll be damned if he’s going to lay on a table naked with their hands all over him. 

When he’s done showering he towels off, then secures the towel around his waist and walks back out into the locker room. It had been empty when he came in and he doesn’t hear any voices or other noise so he assumes it still is, which is why he’s surprised when he rounds the corner and comes face to face with Rick. He stops short and swallows the breath caught in his throat at the sight of the man shirtless and holding a towel, clearly headed for the showers, and covers the pause in his steps as nothing more than being startled to see him.

“Hey man, didn’t know anybody else was here,” he manages to say.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on ya,” Rick apologizes. 

Daryl shakes his head and wonders what Rick’s doing here. In all the time they’ve worked together he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him in the locker room, let alone using the showers. 

“S’fine. Just figured everybody was gone for the day. The hell ya showerin’ here for anyway?”

“I should be gone but I’ll be here for another little while,” Rick explains. “Been working in the gym today and wanted to clean up a little before I finish up.”

“Well I’ll leave ya to it then. Meetin’ Beth ‘n she’ll have a hissy fit if m’late,” Daryl says and moves on to his locker to get dressed. “I’ll see ya.”

“Yeah, see ya later, Dixon.”

He watches from underneath his shaggy bangs as the other man disappears around the corner into the showers. Rick is the Director of Amenities, in charge of the gym, the spa, and the pool. He’s also the star of more than one of Daryl’s dirty fantasies. Way more. A lot. Just when he thinks he’s imagined Rick in every filthy scenario conceivable, his kinky, perverted mind manages to paint another vulgar picture. He’s pretty sure he’s envisioned his tongue in Rick’s ass – or Rick’s in his - way more than could be considered healthy, and that’s nothing to the number of times he’s shamelessly beat off to other erotic images of the man. 

Yeah, shamelessly. He ain’t hurting nobody and he ain’t apologizing for shit. 

They’ve worked together for going on two years now, and although there’s rarely an occasion for them to work closely they’ve become good friends. It’s almost expected to see them together any chance they get. They have lunch in the employee cafeteria every day and one will seek the other out if they’re taking a break. If Daryl is using the gym Rick always spots him and vice versa. They talk shit and generally give each other hell and people are starting to wonder if they’re joined at the hip. 

But only at work.

It isn’t that he doesn’t consider Rick a friend outside of work. Once a month they meet a group of coworkers at the bar in town. Occasionally they all end up at Rhee’s Pizza instead. They just never hang out together, just the two of them.

Daryl wishes they did. 

He’s not sure when his thoughts went from purely platonic to sinfully filthy. Over time it’s gone from admiring the slight bow of his legs and the small sway of his slender hips when he walks, to trying not to openly stare at the way his muscles flex and relax when he’s working out. How his smooth skin stretches taut across long, lean muscle, the thin sheen of sweat damn near glowing underneath the harsh lights in the gym. At some point his simple acknowledgement that his friend has a heart stopping smile has turned into thoughts of those plump lips stretched wide around his cock. 

All he knows is that somewhere along the line Rick went from being just Rick to being a drop dead sexy guy that somehow managed to turn every little normal, ordinary thing he did into a sexual fantasy for Daryl. And while he will always consider Rick his friend, the last few months it’s been harder and harder – literally – to be around him and not think about how badly he wants Rick to bend him over and take whatever he wants. 

The problem is he has no idea what Rick wants.

He knows he’s divorced and he knows he doesn’t have a girlfriend, he just doesn’t know how he feels about the idea of a boyfriend. Even as long as they’ve known each other now he sure as hell doesn’t feel comfortable asking him something like that. He doesn’t begin to know how he’d even bring it up. The last thing he wants to do is make things weird between them or, worse than that, lose his friend completely. 

It’s not as if he hasn’t wondered though. He’s caught Rick staring at him more than once, especially in the gym, with a look on his face Daryl can’t quite read. When it’s Rick’s turn to bring donuts to the monthly staff meetings he always brings two jelly-filled for Daryl, although he doesn’t know how Rick knows they’re his favorite. At the meetings or when they’re all out together Rick always takes the seat beside Daryl, to the point that now the others automatically leave it open for Rick. 

When they’re at the bar or Rhee’s, away from work and more relaxed, there’s the casual touching. Rick seems to think nothing of throwing his arm across the back of Daryl’s chair now and then, or occasionally sitting close enough that their thighs happen to press closely. Outside of work he’s more likely to lay a hand on Daryl’s forearm as he’s talking to him or give his shoulder a friendly squeeze as they’re leaving. 

Daryl doesn’t mind at all. And it’s not as if Rick has any idea that he drives home hornier than a dog with two dicks, barely able to control himself long enough to get in the house and rub one out.

So yeah he wonders, but he knows he’ll never ask.

Then there was the one time at Rhee’s that shook things up even more for Daryl. Rick was running late and by the time he got there his customary seat beside Daryl had been taken by Rosita’s boyfriend and the newly hired golf pro, Abe. Nobody said anything to him or made a big deal out of it, which really he was kind of grateful for.

But still.

He’d spent the evening alternating between sneaking sidelong glances at Rick, and occasionally catching him looking back, and figuring out creative ways to pluck Abe’s ridiculous red mustache out one hair at a time. With his fork.

The realization had hit him on the drive home. As usual he’d taken care of business then spent the rest of his night wondering exactly when he’d developed real, actual feelings for his friend. 

Beth called him out on his crush (he fucking hates that word) months ago. She’s been encouraging him to talk to Rick, ask him to go hang out, or just ask him out period. And by encouraging he means she’s pestering the ever loving hell out of him.

She’s pushy that one.

She teases him relentlessly and says he and Rick have the cutest bromance ever. He likes that word only slightly better. While he doesn’t know about a bromance, he does know that lately the man gives him a broner more often than not.

He’s gotten better at being around people and being more sociable in general since he got away from his brother and took this job, but there’s a big difference in being comfortable around people and asking somebody out. 

 

 

He hears the shower come on as he pulls clean clothes out of his duffle, trying to think of anything but the naked man on the other side of the wall and willing his chubby to go down as he tries to tuck it comfortably into his jeans. He hears Rick quietly whistling some nameless tune and wants to laugh at the fleeting image he has of him singing in the shower. 

He briefly entertains the idea of sneaking over and peeking around the wall. Just a peek. He appreciates Rick in his athletic pants and t-shirt, or in crisp khakis and a pressed white polo bearing the country club’s logo, but he’s pretty damn sure he’d appreciate him even more in nothing at all. 

Fuck yeah. 

For a minute he almost thinks he can get away with it, and then suddenly he’s not so sure. With his luck he’ll ease his head around the wall only to find Rick looking him right in the face and how the fuck would he explain that? Taking a deep breath he dismisses the notion quickly, pulls his t-shirt over his head and slams the locker door harder than he means to. There’s a pause in Rick’s whistling as Daryl grabs his duffel but it resumes by the time he reaches the door and walks out. Beth is waiting. Normally he does this on Fridays, but he’d talked her into waiting until today because of the long ass week and he’s sure she’s just as ready to go home as he is. 

 

While Rick waits for the water to heat up he strips out of his pants and boxers, then steps under the hot spray. He knows he’s only got a few minutes before he needs to be back upstairs so he rushes through his shower while mentally kicking himself for not getting down here fifteen minutes earlier. 

He’s been stuck in the gym for the last thirty minutes listening politely to Mrs. Niedermeyer’s latest idea to lose weight with low carb pasta. She’s convinced that it will be even healthier if she makes it herself. What she really needs to be convinced of is that four days a week in the gym isn’t going to help when she goes directly from the treadmill over to the restaurant and makes two trips to the buffet, then two more trips for cake and pudding. There’s no way in hell he’s telling her that though. He’s just there to set the treadmill. 

So now he’s missed an opportunity to watch Daryl shower. It’s not as if he doesn’t already spend an inordinate amount of time watching the man. He thinks Daryl might have noticed it a couple of times but mostly he’s subtle about it. It’s hard not to watch him though. When he’s working around the grounds all dirty and sweaty, his t-shirt wet and clinging to him, his long, shaggy hair damp and sticking to those chiseled cheek bones, it’s damn near impossible not to look and he’s willing to bet he’s not the only one staring. 

And not watching him is absolutely a lost cause when he’s spotting him in the gym. Jesus, those arms should be illegal. Welcome to the gun show indeed. When Daryl started coming out with the rest of them Rick had discovered that, although he has to wear them at work, Daryl apparently doesn’t like sleeves. Rick has decided that he doesn’t like Daryl in sleeves either. He very much hopes that Daryl has ripped the sleeves off of every shirt he owns. Some of his favorite fantasies in the Daryl Dixon Spank Bank involve those arms. Watching him shower would have been a fantastic addition. 

Fucking Mrs. Niedermeyer. 

It still amazes him sometimes that he and Daryl have become such good friends. They seem like complete opposites and in a lot of ways they are, but from the beginning it’s been comfortable and easy and effortless. With Daryl what you see is what you get – no pretense, no bullshit. He’s rough and gruff on a good day and he can be downright crass in the right company. At the same time he’s quiet, almost shy. He’s kind and funny and loyal to a fault.

It doesn’t hurt that the man looks like sex on a stick.

Somewhere along the way though, his thoughts had begun to shift. It started out innocently enough. Now though, a short wave in passing while they work has become a lingering stare as Daryl walks away, one that might be focused intently on his ass. Wanting to sit next to his friend has become a need to be close to him. He tries hard to keep it casual but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep from touching Daryl when he gets that close. He wouldn’t think anything of Daryl’s failure to stop it or put any kind of distance between them except he knows Daryl’s not too keen on being touched to begin with. He tries to ignore the fact that Daryl leans into those touches sometimes. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up every time he approaches Daryl and can see everything about him relax.

He’s had feelings for Daryl for some time now and he’s starting to wonder if Daryl might have some of those same feelings for him. 

He knows Daryl isn’t married and that he isn’t seeing anybody. He’s tried to convince himself to just ask the man out already, and has almost succeeded several times, until he reminds himself that one, Daryl might not appreciate a man coming on to him and two, Daryl looks like he could very much kick his ass for coming on to him.

Realizing he’s wasting precious time he quickly rinses the shampoo from his hair and shuts the water off. He hurries to dry off and throws on a clean pair of athletic pants and a t-shirt, then grabs his bag from his locker and heads back upstairs.

 

 

Beth has led Daryl to one of the small massage rooms where some kind of slow, quiet music is being piped in. She’s lit several candles and like always Daryl notices that the room smells good as hell. 

As usual she’s placed a fluffy robe in the chair for after and handed him a large towel with instructions to undress and get on the table and “cover his pasty white ass”, she’ll be back in a few minutes. As usual he flips her off as she’s closing the door.

He’s gotten a lot more comfortable with getting naked in this little room now that he knows what’s involved in all this. The first time, when she’d come back in the room and he was naked all but a towel, he’d panicked a little and had almost yelled at her to get the hell out. But she was professional and put him at ease and now it doesn’t bother him at all. 

As long as it’s Beth.

He climbs onto the table and lays on his stomach, towel draped over his ass and his face nestled in the opening of the headrest. He’s staring at the floor while he waits, his thoughts wandering to a naked Rick downstairs, and notices that it’s taking her longer than it normally does to come back. After what seems like forever he finally hears the door open directly across the room from where his head rests. She’s quiet as she comes in, not even humming under her breath. That’s unusual for Beth but he doesn’t think too much of it, it’s been a long week for all of the employees and she’s probably just as tired as he is. 

He begins to think a little more of it though when he hears the snick of the lock on the doorknob because he doesn’t think she’s ever locked it before. There’s an “occupied” sign outside the door that lets people know the room is in use.

When she still doesn’t say anything, when he doesn’t hear her moving around the room and when her small feet don’t appear in his line of vision his curiosity finally gets the best of him and he lifts his head and looks up. If he was surprised when he ran into him in the locker room, he’s downright shocked this time when he finds himself staring at Rick across the small room, never more aware of the fact that he’s completely naked than right now.

He’s casually leaning on the door as if it’s perfectly normal for him to lock himself in a room where Daryl is naked underneath a towel and _holy shit Rick just locked himself in a room with me knowing I’m naked underneath a towel_. As that sinks in he can only hope that Rick’s reason for being here is the same reason Daryl suddenly wants him here. 

He thinks he should probably say something. Rick is still standing there looking at him expectantly and he figures what the hell right? C’mon Dixon, he’s the one that busted in on your nakedness and _locked the door_. Daryl’s not sure how long they’ve been staring at each other across the small space that seems to be getting smaller before he decides that under the circumstances it might be entirely appropriate for him to say something completely inappropriate. Right? He finally finds his voice.

“Where’s Beth?” is what actually comes out of his mouth. He mentally face palms himself.

Rick rubs his hand over his short beard then around to the back of his neck. “She uh…she had somethin’ else she needed to take care of before she left for the day.” Rick doesn’t recall ever being this anxious around Daryl, and that thought makes him even more anxious.

Daryl can tell the man’s as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Fair enough. For all he knows Daryl might not react well to him coming in here. 

Daryl thinks it’s possible he’s never been happier to see him.

He props himself up on his elbows and narrows his eyes at Rick. “She did, huh?” He rubs his fingers across the scruff on his chin. “Didn’t mention anythin’ like that to me when she told me what time to be up here. What’d she have to take care of?” he asks suspiciously.

Rick puts his hands on his hips then slides them into his pockets as if he’s not sure what to do with them. He looks down at the floor then back up to Daryl. “Just some…stuff. Some thangs I needed her to get done.”

Rick’s heart is hammering against his ribcage and the way Daryl’s looking at him makes him wonder if the other man can hear it. He’s also starting to wonder what he was even thinking coming in here like this. Okay, so he was thinking it was a pretty good idea, at least it was at the time he thought of it. When he’d seen him downstairs earlier wearing nothing but a towel he’d thought it was a damn fine idea and he was ready to bust hell wide open to make it happen. 

It had finally taken the promise of an extra day off – with pay – to get Beth to relent and let him come in here. He might be her boss but she’s protective as hell over Daryl. He doesn’t know why she was such a hard ass about it though, she’s been bugging him for a while now to talk to Daryl and ask him out. He thought maybe she knew something he didn’t but he’s starting to question that. 

Now he’s studying Daryl warily and trying to gauge what he’s thinking based on the look on his face but it’s nearly impossible. At this point he’s just hoping to leave the room with nothing worse than a fat lip or the promise of a nice shiner. He knows Daryl’s adamant that nobody but Beth give him a massage and judging by Daryl’s silence that doesn’t seem likely to change today. He hopes like hell he hasn’t just thrown their friendship away by coming in here.

He tries not to stare at Daryl’s bare shoulders that look impossibly broader with the way his upper body is supported on his elbows, which incidentally is causing his impressive biceps to ripple and bulge even more. He tries not to let his eyes linger too long on the expanse of his chest, the tattoo over his heart or what he can see of the curve of his strong back where it slopes down to what he imagines is a perfect ass. 

When Daryl still doesn’t say anything Rick does. “I uh…I told her I could fill in for her…ya know…” he waves his hand to indicate Daryl stretched out on the table and clears his throat, “…take care of your massage for ya. Ya know…if ya want.” Daryl’s eyes narrow even more and Rick’s concern for his own well being kicks up another notch.

Daryl’s heart stutters for a beat before it’s racing in his chest and he has to catch himself before he lets out an actual squeak. It takes him a minute to process the fact that Rick wants to give him a massage. It takes him another minute to process the fact that Beth knows he doesn’t want anybody else doing this but her, along with the fact that she never would have told him to come up here if she knew there was something else she had to do. Just a minute more and he’s sure of it. 

Little Miss Beth Greene has set him up. 

He decides to reserve judgment on whether to kiss her square on the mouth or cuss her out until he sees where this is going. 

He’s unable to read the look on Rick’s face but he gets the distinct feeling that the next few minutes are going to change everything, whether it’s for better or for worse he doesn’t know. He’s pretty sure though that after they leave this room nothing will ever be the same.

He has a decision to make, and quickly. If this is what he hopes it is and he tells Rick to forget it, then Rick probably really will forget it – all of it. The fact that the other man is so nervous makes Daryl think he’s actually worried that he’ll turn him away. 

On the other hand, if he agrees to this he’s about to have Rick’s hands all over him, and apparently Rick is okay with that. He slows that thought down though when it occurs to him that Rick’s a professional and this is just his job. Wait. Is he a professional? Is he licensed like Beth and the others? Has he ever even done this? 

Does he really fucking care when he has the chance to have Rick’s hands _all over him_?

“Didn’t think ya did stuff like this.” He motions around the small room with a wave of his hand. “Ya ever done this before?” _The fuck Dixon? Shut the hell up and let the man touch you!_ He knows it doesn’t matter anyway, he’s going to let him do it just to see what Rick’s intentions are. 

Rick shrugs. “I don’t usually, but I’m licensed. I only fill in if we need it.” Fuck. This isn’t going to end like he’d hoped and he’ll never be able to look Daryl in the eye again. He’s just about to call it a bust and go get Beth when Daryl surprises him. 

“A’ight. Do what ya do Rick.” He shrugs and nestles his face back into the opening in the headrest, settles his arms and shoulders against the table and Rick’s almost certain he hears a challenge there.

Daryl takes a deep, steadying breath as he gets comfortable, trying to appear as relaxed as possible so his body doesn’t betray his nervous anticipation. He’s never been more thankful to have his face crammed in a hole, sure that it’s as red as a smacked ass right now.

Rick releases the breath he’s been holding and crosses the room to the counter along the wall. Beth has already put out everything he’s going to need and he has to look twice when he notices the bottle of massage oil she’s left for him. It’s a warming oil and not something the spa uses. His eyes widen and he smiles to himself. If this goes the way he’s hoping he’s going to owe her more than just a day off with pay.

After he’s washed his hands he pours some of the oil into a small glass bowl and turns, placing the bowl between Daryl’s knees on the table. Now that Daryl can’t see him, he lets his eyes trail over him from head to toe. 

Does this man even know how gorgeous, how fucking smoking-hot-sexy he is? 

His rakes his gaze over his muscular legs and now that he’s standing beside him he can see that he was right. Underneath the towel is the outline of two perfect, firm globes. Rick wants badly to dip his tongue into each of the two dimples at the small of his back before licking a trail up his spine and across those strong shoulders. With any luck he’ll get the chance soon. He’s lost in the makings of a nice fantasy when Daryl’s voice cuts into his thoughts.

“Ya gonna stand there and stare or ya gonna get started?” His voice is muffled by the table but Rick hears a distinct smirk in the question. 

Rick feels the heat of a blush climb his neck to his face and ears and clears this throat. Choosing to ignore what he’s sure is a rhetorical question anyway rather than have to address the fact that he’s been caught staring, which is most definitely not professional, he dips his fingers into the oil and dribbles it over Daryl’s left calf. He uses his palm to spread the oil before alternately kneading with his fingertips and applying pressure with his palms to work the muscles there. 

After working on his calf for a few minutes he dips his fingers in the oil again and smoothes his hands over Daryl’s ankle and down to his foot. He hears a quiet gasp as he presses his thumbs across the arch several times before working his way to the balls of his feet. 

 

 

Daryl may not survive this massage. Okay he’ll probably live through it, at least long enough to completely humiliate himself anyway. Rick’s barely started and he can feel his cock filling and as much as he’s trying to will it not to he knows it’s only going to get worse. Rick’s only touched one leg – one half of one leg – and he’s already having impure thoughts. 

Beth’s hands are small and soft and delicate. She always starts out the same as Rick just did and her hands feel good and they get the job done. 

But these hands. Holy fuck.

Rick’s hands are larger and his fingers longer, wrapping around his calf and foot as he _caresses_ them. Daryl may be a dumb redneck but he damn well knows the difference between a rub and a caress for fuck’s sake. 

Beth rubs. Rick is definitely caressing. 

He’s definitely okay with that.

His hands are also rougher than he would have expected for the job he does. Not as rough as Daryl’s, but just rough enough that every drag of Rick’s palm over his slick skin creates friction that feels like soothing waves of heat. 

His long, slender fingers press and knead along his stiff muscles, then Rick is dribbling oil across the back of his thigh with one hand while the thumb of his other presses soothing circles into the back of his knee. Daryl jumps at the contact and Rick pauses, asking through a grin, “Ticklish?”

Daryl only grunts in response, and Rick can hear the ‘shut up’ behind it although he doesn’t sound truly put out.

 

For Daryl’s part he’s trying desperately to keep his breathing even and just concentrate on the repetitive motion of Rick’s hands and not on the dirty images that keep popping into his head. His dick is not inclined to stay soft and he’s becoming concerned about just how far down the towel comes and how much it covers. He’s never had to worry about it with Beth for obvious reasons, but if he’d known he was going to get a rub down from the object of his porn worthy fantasies his dick would be pointing up, not straight down. He can only hope that Rick makes it up to his shoulders before the towel becomes way too short.

Or not.

Finally he feels the oil being drizzled over his back and as he feels Rick come to stand beside the top of the table he’s relieved to know that the other man probably has no idea that his dick’s been getting harder by the minute in spite of everything he can do. Then Rick’s hands are pressing and gliding up his back and a low moan escapes his throat as he works his fingers up either side of his spine. 

“Good?” Rick asks in a low, quiet voice that Daryl is pretty sure he’s never heard him use before. He’s also pretty sure he likes it a lot.

“So fuckin’ good,” Daryl breaths out on a groan and Rick can’t help but grin as he continues to manipulate the muscles along his spine. 

Rick’s hands are pressing along his shoulders when Daryl realizes that his legs and feet still feel warm and slightly tingly. In fact his whole body feels warm and flush in the best way and it dawns on him that Rick is using warming oil. Huh. He wouldn’t have thought places like this used warming oil. In fact he thought warming oil was usually used for…

Oh.

He’s seen a few videos. He knows what’s involved, and now he’s really hoping that’s what Rick has in mind. 

 

 

This isn’t the first massage he’s ever given and it’s not even the first time he’s heard grunts, groans or moans from the client. But those noises coming from Daryl are causing his dick stir with interest and he’s so thankful he opted for the athletic pants instead of the khakis he’s normally required to wear in the spa. If this goes in the direction he’s hoping for the bulge in his pants is only going to get bigger and the pants he’s wearing are definitely more accommodating. He’s never going to be able to get those noises out of his head and that’s fine with him. Now he has an audio track to accompany the images in the Daryl Dixon Spank Bank. 

He continues to work his hands over Daryl’s back and up across his shoulders. He takes his time working the muscles in his neck and works each arm in turn. If he spends a little extra time grasping and rubbing and plying and stroking his biceps well…

Okay so he’s feeling up his biceps but Daryl doesn’t seem to mind and no one else has to know.

He’s at the point now when he would usually help the client turn over so he can work on their front, but he prefers not to think of Daryl as a client. 

Besides, he’s not finished with the back yet. 

He’s spent the last forty-five minutes working up the nerve to do this, not to mention the hours he’s spent on the internet to make sure he does it right. He’s well aware that just because Daryl appears comfortable with letting Rick give him a massage it doesn’t mean he still might not end up with that fat lip before this is over, but he’s not going to back out now.

It’s time to fish or cut bait.

So he takes a deep breath, moves back down to Daryl’s legs and drizzles more oil over his thigh.

 

If there is any part of a massage that Daryl has decided he doesn’t like it’s this part. The part where he’s good and relaxed and his body is beginning to feel all rubbery and mushy and he’s starting to wish he could just fall asleep here. The part where he has to move to turn over. This part sucks. 

Beth normally pats the side of his thigh or his hip to let him know he can roll over so he waits for Rick to do the same. Only he doesn’t. Instead, he feels him move back to the bottom of the table to drip more oil over his thigh.

Okay.

It’s not like he has anywhere he absolutely has to be. If Rick wants to take his time that’s fine. Won’t hear him complai…

Daryl tenses slightly when he feels Rick’s finger dip underneath the edge of the towel and graze the bottom of his butt cheek. He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slowly even as he feels his dick respond.

_Simmer down Lil’ D. Could’ve been an accident, don’t get too excited_.

Daryl’s willing his dick to stay down and almost succeeding when Rick dips underneath the towel again, only this time Daryl thinks it’s more than just a graze, like he might be testing the waters. 

_Well come on in, Rick. The water’s just fine_.

As if Rick can read his mind his hands glide up either side of Daryl’s thigh and keep gliding. When the tip of his finger brushes the head of his dick Daryl’s eyes fly open and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep any noise from escaping. His stomach muscles clench and he can feel his cock getting harder. He’s no longer interested in trying to stop it. 

Rick moves around the table to work on Daryl’s other thigh, and this time when he moves up his leg the fingers of his right hand tuck into the space between his dick and his leg and all four fingers of his left hand slip underneath the towel. The tiny jolt of arousal that pings through his cock causes his ass to flex and his breath leaves him in a rush.

Fuck yeah. 

_Go ahead Lil’ D. Do what ya gotta do_. 

 

Rick finally gets a reaction to let him know whether or not Daryl is okay with this. Apparently he is, so it’s now or never.

He clears his throat and says as casually as he can, “We can get rid of the towel. Or if you’d rather leave it that’s fine, too.” He feels another blush creeping over his face and prays he didn’t just take it too far. He can feel his hands tremble slightly with nerves and hopes that Daryl doesn’t feel it too. 

Fuck. There it is. His suspicions are confirmed and now that he knows exactly what’s on Rick’s mind he feels a rush of heat that has nothing to do with the oil. He wants to grab the towel and fling it across the small room himself but he doesn’t want it to appear as though he’s been imagining something like this for months, so he simply shrugs and says as nonchalantly as he can, “Whatever’s easiest for ya, but m’givin’ ya fair warnin’.”

Rick’s hand pauses mid reach for the towel and he swallows nervously. “And that is?” 

Daryl smirks to himself and answers, “Don’t rub the lamp if ya don’t want the genie.”

Rick breathes out a quiet chuckle that’s as much relief as it is amusement. “Duly noted.”


	2. The Session

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the sweet reviews and positive feedback! Y'all are the best!

Now that he knows Daryl is on board with this he’s all in. His confidence has returned and he pulls the towel away without hesitation. His tongue darts out to trace shamelessly along his lower lip when the oil drips from his fingertips to bead along Daryl’s toned cheeks. Daryl can’t see him and at this point he doesn’t think it would matter if he could. He runs his hands easily over the slick skin to the small of his back at his tailbone where he presses firm circles into the flesh there. The exaggerated rise and fall of Daryl’s shoulders give away his deep, controlled breaths.

His hands glide over his ass, back and forth, before sliding down to settle at the top of his thighs. This time he can hear Daryl’s sharp intake of breath when his right hand blatantly skims up the crack of his ass, his middle finger dipping slightly but not venturing too far. He taps the inside of Daryl’s thigh and drops his voice to a low, husky timbre. 

“Spread your legs a little more for me.”

_Christ_. Daryl swallows thickly and shifts to spread his legs as a shiver skitters along his spine from his tailbone to the base of his skull. He never thought he’d hear Rick say those words to him and at this point he’ll do pretty much anything Rick tells him to. Hell he’s pretty sure the sky’s the limit. A fresh surge of heat runs through him and settles between his legs. 

He smoothes his left hand back over Daryl’s thigh at the same time that his right hand slides back down the center of his cheeks. Daryl sucks in another breath and holds it this time when Rick’s hand doesn’t stop but smoothes over his balls and along the shaft of his semi-hard dick up to the head. Now the tip of his middle finger is tracing a barely-there path back and forth across his slit before he drags his palm back over his dick, then his sac, then back across his ass.

Daryl can’t make his lungs work to exhale.

“Relax, Daryl. Just breathe deep.”

He runs his hand firmly along Daryl’s spine to his neck and back down to rest on his right cheek and Daryl finally releases the breath he’s been holding. 

How the hell is he supposed to do things like _relax_ and _breathe_ when not only is Rick rubbing his dick but that damn oil is making it feel all warm and tingly? Fuck almighty the man’s just getting started and Daryl’s already convinced he has magic fingers. He hopes like hell he doesn’t embarrass himself. He prays he can last as long as Rick’s dirty massage is supposed to. 

They can call it _therapeutic_ all they want. It’s dirty.

Rick is dirty.

Daryl is very much okay with that.

 

 

Rick slides his hands over Daryl’s ass from the bottom to the top as his thumbs knead into the muscle. If his fingertips come close to dipping into the hollow between his cheeks from time to time, and if he’s toeing the line between professional and indecent he can live with that.

He hasn’t had his hands on Daryl’s ass for more than a couple of minutes though when he realizes his movements are closer to groping than rubbing. Every time his fingers flex Daryl’s cheeks spread and he’s treated to the sight of his tight little hole. His mouth goes dry and now he’s distracted from his original distraction.

His original distraction being Daryl’s cock laying long and thick between his thighs. With every pass of his hands and every spread of his ass he can _see_ it getting longer and thicker and he has to bite back a groan. 

_Holy shit how big does that thing get?_

Now he realizes his hands have stopped all together while he stares at Daryl’s way-bigger-than-average dick. Apparently Daryl has realized it too and before he can remind himself to get it together so he doesn’t make a complete fool of himself Daryl speaks up.

“You’re starin’ again.”

Too late.

This time he can clearly hear the smirk behind his words. Of course Daryl knows what he’s packing and he seems both pleased with himself and amused at Rick’s reaction. 

“Turn over.”

He flips over gracelessly. He’s naked and exposed and he doesn’t give the tiniest of fucks when his heavy cock flops against his belly with a quiet slap. He appears to have his eyes closed as he settles his head against the headrest, arms by his sides, but they’re open just enough that he can see Rick swallow hard and his eyes widen just barely before he gets his shit together and his expression goes back to neutral.

 

Rick starts with his legs since he never finished the actual massage. He works each one in turn and if his fingers nudge his balls more often than not when he’s working on his thighs, well, shit happens.

Daryl’s fine with it, except he wishes Rick would skip the whole ‘real massage’ business and get to the good stuff.

Fuckin’ tease.

Rick works his way over his stomach and chest. He moves to stand behind Daryl’s head and lets his fingertips trail along his collarbones and up the sides of his neck.

Daryl’s relaxed and he’s breathing slow and deep like he always does. His dick has finally started to go down and he’s no longer distracted by the low, steady throb. Then Rick is massaging his neck just beneath his earlobes. His fingers are firm but gentle as they dance across the sensitive skin, moving behind his ears and towards the base of his skull. Just as he’s wondering why Beth never bothers with that area - because damn that feels good - Rick’s pinching and rolling his earlobes and rubbing along the shells of his ears.

Oh. That’s why.

Now he’s wondering if there’s a nerve that runs from his ears straight to his dick because he thinks he feels a little _ping_ and suddenly Lil’ D’s interested again.

He doesn’t wonder for too long though because Rick’s hands have moved from his ears to grip his arms and move them over his head. Daryl tucks his hands behind his head to hold them in place as Rick moves around to his side. His hands and fingers are feather light on his biceps and chest. Daryl knows the minute Rick goes from professional back to dirty though when he rakes his blunt nails lightly through the soft hair at his armpits then across his chest. He doesn’t so much _rub_ his rough palms over his hardened nipples as he _drags_ them. His hands move in circles and then he’s raking his thumbnails lightly across the sensitive nubs. 

Daryl thinks maybe he could have tried a little harder to keep that particular moan to himself, but he also thinks that surely they’re past the point of pretending they don’t know what’s going on. And Rick certainly doesn’t seem to mind judging by the low hum of approval that he doesn’t bother to hide either.

Rick continues the gentle assault on Daryl’s nipples until his dick is mostly hard again. Daryl has never engaged in any sort of nipple play and is pleasantly surprised to find that he likes it. A lot. In fact he kind of regrets that he didn’t learn this about himself years ago. 

How did he not know that’s a thing?

The thing he did discover years ago though is that he loves cock play. Especially if someone else is doing the playing. So as much as he’s enjoying the nipple thing, that aching throb is back and he’d rather have Rick’s hands a little further south. He clenches to make his cock jump hoping to get Rick’s attention. When he still doesn’t take the hint he thrusts his hips just slightly and wonders if Rick realizes how hard he’s going to hit him if he doesn’t move his hands lower.

Rick’s movements stop completely, the exact opposite of what Daryl was going for, and he leans down over him and presses his mouth close to his ear.

“Be still and be patient.”

Rick’s voice right next to his ear with his warm breath right behind it, the smell of his soap from his shower earlier, and the tickle of his t-shirt over Daryl’s bare skin all make Daryl want to reach down and tug his cock furiously, moaning Rick’s name as he paints everything white.

But he can be patient. He can.

 

Rick’s beginning to get a little impatient himself. On one hand he thinks if he’d just invited Daryl to dinner they both could have avoided this torture. On the other hand, torture or not he’s glad he hasn’t missed the opportunity to see Daryl lying naked on his massage table. His skin is slick and shiny with oil and his glorious cock is begging to be touched and Rick can tell he’s just barely holding it together. He can feel his muscles quivering and muscles aren’t supposed to quiver during a massage.

He’s quite pleased with himself.

Rick brings Daryl’s arms back down by his sides. He casually lets his own erection brush the back of Daryl’s hand and feels a flutter of excitement in his chest when he hears the quiet gasp from the top of the table.

He drags his fingertips lightly down Daryl’s torso until he’s scraping his nails over the thin, soft patch of hair that trails from his navel to his groin. He’s not at all surprised that the man’s happy trail is just as perfect as the rest of him. Daryl’s cock is lying just to the side of where his fingers are tracing a path and he’s careful not to touch it. He moves lower to run his fingers through the coarse hair at the base of his cock, still avoiding the one place he knows Daryl wants him to touch the most. He can see his cock twitching with want.

He’s only making Daryl wait because he told him to but he can’t take not touching anymore so he gives in.

 

Daryl feels the oil drip over his cock and he almost sighs out loud with relief. Then Rick’s hands are on him and he bites his lip to keep from groaning. He’s not sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t the feel of Rick’s slender fingers dancing along the length of his dick. That’s what it feels like. Like his fingers are casually taking a stroll across his dick when they should be wrapped around it and squeezing.

This had better be going somewhere.

For the first time in his thirty-nine years on the planet Daryl wants to whine and pout like a petulant child because Rick won’t just jerk him off already.

He’s a cock tease is what he is.

Then his dick is cradled – _cradled_ – gently in Rick’s palm while the fingers of his other hand press and rub and _work_ his dick just like they had all of his other muscles and holy _Christ_ it feels good.

He has no idea who decided that this should be a thing but bless them. Twice.

The flat of Rick’s hand slides from the base to the tip and back down. Then further down to slide over his sac with pressure that Daryl doesn’t think should be comfortable let alone make his hole clench with want. 

At the same time, his dick has gone softer but not _down_. It’s the same size as it was when it was hard but it’s not hard. Not _fuckable_ hard.

Rick’s hand wraps around the base and glides up to the tip. As soon as that hand is gone the other one replaces it and repeats the motion. He continues to alternate hands this way until Daryl’s fully hard again then suddenly stops, laying his dick flat against his belly and gently resting his open hand over top of it, almost touching but not quite.

Any other time Daryl would be highly annoyed by this. Right now though he feels like he’s slipped into some kind of funky headspace where he’s turned on beyond belief but too relaxed to care to do anything about it. His dick is throbbing under Rick’s hand and he marvels at the feel of heat radiating from his palm into his sensitive flesh, seeming to seep straight to his core. 

Rick’s hand is still hovering over Daryl’s erection, barely making contact, while he reaches down with the other and rolls his balls gently in his palm, pulling and kneading at the soft skin. Rick slides his middle finger underneath and begins rubbing and probing, as if he’s searching for something. He must find it because he’s circling his finger with increased pressure now and Daryl realizes with a familiar jolt that he’s pressing on his prostate _from the outside_. 

Again, how does he not know that’s a thing?

His cock jerks, but the heat from the oil along with the heat from Rick’s palm that’s still hovering just close enough not to touch is keeping it in that perpetual state of hard-not-hard, and even in the loose and hazy place he seems to be floating in he’s aware enough to be fascinated by this. He’s never felt like this in his life. He feels tingly from his skin straight down to his bones. He’s horny as hell and it feels _good_ and somehow he’s ok with feeling it and not doing anything about it. 

Rick presses a little harder. A small moan escapes Daryl’s throat and his cock jumps again as pure reflex has his hips surging upward to press against Rick’s palm. Rick’s hand leaves Daryl’s cock to glide back and forth over his hip.

“Just relax and be still,” he soothes.

Rick’s skilled hand wraps around him again, gliding up and down his shaft until he’s hard again. The fingers of his other hand are doing something deliciously unholy and he peeks one eye open to see Rick’s fingers sliding up and down and around the head of his dick as he strokes him with his other hand. It looks like he’s fucking into a tiny octopus with only five tiny tentacles. _Shit_. How in the hell does Rick expect him to be still when all he wants to do is grab his knees and pull them up against his chest and demand that he _fuck him now_? 

He’s almost decided that’s exactly what’s about to happen because suddenly he wants to come so bad, and then his dick is placed gently back against his stomach while Rick caresses and massages it. Daryl is starting to suspect that Rick is no longer even pretending to be professional but is flat out edging him. He feels himself slipping back into that hazy place as one hand glides over his stomach and chest and he can feel the other hovering again, heat radiating from his palm. 

He has the crazy thought that Rick is trying to hypnotize his dick. Some kind of hoodoo voodoo is what it is. 

 

 

Rick can tell when Daryl is truly relaxed and when he’s getting close to being too close. Bringing him right to that delicious edge only to nudge him back again is starting to drive him just as crazy as it is Daryl. 

Not only does Daryl’s slick skin feel like heaven but he’s staring at the most perfect cock he’s ever seen. His intention was to give Daryl an actual massage, then follow it up with the tantric massage – if he was willing. The fact that he was not only willing, but apparently eager, tells Rick all he needs to know and he has every intention of making him come. In fact he wants nothing more than to lean over and impale his throat on the stiff length and suck hard until Daryl’s spewing his load and he’s drinking up every drop of it.

Rick grinds his own erection against the side of the table – again – and knows he’s dangerously close to coming in his pants. If he can’t take much more then it’s a sure bet that Daryl can’t and suddenly he’s done with fooling around.

 

Without warning Rick takes Daryl in both hands and starts stroking again and Daryl is instantly aware that this isn’t like before. His movements aren’t slow and smooth with the intent to make him relax. His strokes are strong and purposeful and he realizes that he’s using both hands at the same time which means…

Oh fuck yeah. He likes where this is going. A lot. 

He’s also sure that if it doesn’t go there this time he’s kicking Rick’s ass.

Rick can practically feel Daryl come alive under his hands and he reminds him, “Don’t move. Just breathe.”

Daryl groans low in his throat. He’s gritting his teeth and he has a death grip on the sides of the table in an effort not to fuck into Rick’s fists as his strokes speed up. 

He’s suddenly hyperaware of everything. The smooth sheet under his back. The sweat beading at his temples and the back of his neck despite the cool air of the room ghosting over his heated, oil-slick skin. The smells of the oil and candles and Rick’s soap. The sound of the music and Rick’s soft, panted breaths that match his own. 

He has an idea Rick’s enjoying this almost as much as he is when he starts grinding his stiff length against the hand that’s white knuckling the edge of the table. 

He knows it’s not going to take him long. He thinks it may take even less time when he feels Rick slide a hand down to cup his balls and squeeze them up against the base of his cock while he extends a finger to press and rub the same spot he’d found earlier. His legs fall open wider of their own accord and he’s not sure he can be still much longer. He knows he can’t keep quiet. He’s done well up until now which is something considering he’s usually a noisy fucker. His grunts and groans are becoming louder and he’s pretty sure Rick’s name is in there somewhere but there’s nothing he can do to make it stop.

Between being distracted by Daryl in general and his own aching cock, Rick had forgotten pretty much everything he’s learned about this a while ago and has been winging it with the hope that Daryl didn’t notice. In all honesty at this point he’s pretty much just playing with Daryl’s dick. Either he doesn’t notice or he couldn’t care less because now he’s watching as Daryl strains against the table trying his best to keep still. It’s even more of a challenge once Rick has a hand wrapped around his balls and a finger firmly stroking the smooth expanse of skin beneath. He watches Daryl’s legs open wider and he’s not sure how long he’s been rutting against his hand but Daryl’s not moving to stop that either, if he’s even aware of it. 

 

 

Daryl feels the smoldering heat that’s been building in his gut and his cock start to spread. His thighs are trembling and his hole is fluttering and clenching over and over and _God_ he wishes it was filled up with Rick right now. The buildup has never felt like this. It’s damn near torturous and almost too much but it’s got to be the most exquisite agony he’s ever felt. The speed of Rick’s strokes is steady and perfect and his grip is just right and at this point he’s desperate to come.

He’s positive his balls are going to explode.

They don’t, but he feels them draw tight against his body just before his cock does. He feels it from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and it meets somewhere in the middle before erupting in a powerful throb of release. 

He comes with a keening moan that’s thankfully muffled by the heel of his hand that he’s shoved against his mouth. His teeth clamp down and his body locks up as his orgasm _pounds_ through him. Pinpricks of color shimmer and sparkle behind his eyelids and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to stop coming. The last thought he has before his brain seems to disconnect is _this is damn well happening again_.

 

 

Rick doesn’t take his eyes off Daryl. He couldn’t if he wanted to. The sight of him coming undone under his hands is such a rush that he has to practically force his dick away from Daryl’s hand before he loses it right along with him. 

Daryl’s muscles tense up and his hips are barely twitching. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open, his ragged breaths are barely audible over the wet squelch of Rick’s fist sliding over his slick cock. His broad chest is rising and falling rapidly, the pink flush of arousal reaching from his hardened nipples up the length of his throat and coloring his whole face. 

_Fuck_ he’s beautiful.

He watches captivated as Daryl’s orgasm hits him and in rapid succession his toes curl and his thighs quiver, stomach muscles ripple as it caves in on itself and his back arches off the table as his broad chest heaves. He throws his head back and his mouth drops open just before he’s biting into his hand in an effort to stay quiet. Rick feels Daryl’s cock swell and pulse in his hand and his breath catches in his throat as stream after milky stream spews across Daryl’s stomach and chest and Rick’s hand.

He moves his hand from Daryl’s prostate to his thigh but the other continues to stroke him through his orgasm and he’s _still_ coming. His body trembles with the force of it, then slowly relaxes as it subsides. 

It is hands down _the_ sexiest thing Rick has ever seen in his life. 

In fact, the Daryl Dixon Spank Bank just became the envy of all other spank banks.

Rick loosens his grip and slows down but continues to stroke him from the base to just below the sensitive tip, squeezing just enough to milk every drop from him. The last of it oozes from the slit and over Rick’s fingers and he fights the urge to flick his tongue out for a taste.

Maybe later. 

He hopes like hell there is a later.

Rick lays his hand on Daryl’s hip and lets his thumb trace lightly across the warm flesh, watching his chest rise and fall as his breathing quiets and becomes steadier. He tries to think of anything he can to will his own still throbbing dick to go down.

Mrs. Niedermeyer stuffing her face with pasta. That weird caddie with the mullet wearing a Speedo. Yep, that did it.

Daryl’s eyes are still closed but he does finally move his arm to drape it over his eyes, so at least Rick knows he didn’t conk out on him.

 

 

When Daryl’s brain finally comes back online the first thing he’s aware of is the sound of running water and Rick’s hand resting on his hip rubbing slow circles over his still tingling and sensitive flesh. He can’t be bothered to open his eyes just yet and he can barely find the strength to bring his arm up from his chest to lay across his them. Rick is still stroking his hip and Daryl thinks that one of them should probably say something.

Rick does. “You okay?” he asks quietly and Daryl can hear a smile in the question.

“Mother _fuck_.” 

It’s the only thing his brain can come up with and the words sound slurred to his own ears. He thinks he may never be able to make whole sentences again. His voice is raspy and it feels like his throat might have turned inside out. He’s never come that hard in his life, it’s never been that intense, and he has the fleeting thought that it will never happen again unless Rick provides it. 

Rick’s hand is gone now and he can hear him moving around over by the counter. The water shuts off and he hears a cabinet door open and close then the sound of the cap being twisted off of one of the bottles of water kept in the small refrigerator.

“Here,” Rick says.

Daryl slowly raises up enough to prop himself on one elbow and finally looks at Rick. Sure enough he’s smiling and he looks rather pleased with himself. One hand holds the bottle of water he’s offering and in the other is a wet hand towel.

“Thanks,” he says as he accepts the water.

He drains a third of the bottle quickly then looks down, eyes widening as he takes in the splattered mess. It looks like somebody poured cum all over his stomach and chest. He can feel it drying cool and sticky and _holy fuck_ he never even knew his balls could hold that much.

It seems like there’s a lot he didn’t know before Rick locked himself in this room.

He sips the water and watches Rick clean him with the warm, wet towel. He could have easily done it himself but he lays back and drapes his arm back over his eyes, perfectly content to let Rick do it for him. As Rick wipes at the mess it occurs to him that now that they’re done with their…session…he has no idea where this is going or if Rick even wants it to go anywhere at all. He’s starting to feel a little nervous and although he wouldn’t say the silence is uncomfortable he thinks it needs something to fill it.

“Housekeepin’s gonna be pissed when they get those towels,” he says.

“Probably,” Rick smiles.

“Oh well, warned ya ‘bout the lamp.”

Rick chuckles as he turns to get another towel. “Yeah. You did.”

He turns back to finish cleaning Daryl off and tries to quell the nerves he’s feeling in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t want this to end here but he has no idea how Daryl feels about it. For all he knows Daryl was happy to get off and that’s that.

Daryl lifts his arm enough to peer at Rick with one eye. “Ya know, Rick, if ya wanted to give me a hand job all ya had to do was ask.”

With that his nerves are gone and Rick stops his task to look at Daryl. He bites back a laugh although his amusement is clear in his expression as he arches an eyebrow.

“That was tantric massage, Daryl,” he tries to say as seriously as he can manage.

Daryl shoots him a look and rolls his eyes.

“Pssh. S’just some big word for a fancy hand job,” he says.

Rick huffs out a laugh as he turns to put all the used towels in the small hamper. He doesn’t bother to drape one back over Daryl as he has every intention of looking his fill in case he never gets the chance again and Daryl doesn’t ask for one.

“An’ anyway,” Daryl continues, “ain’tcha supposed to buy me dinner or some shit before ya try to get in my pants?”

Daryl’s still stretched out like he’s not going anywhere. Rick comes back to stand beside the table and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyebrow inches up again and he looks pointedly at Daryl’s dick then meets his eyes again.

“You weren’t wearin’ pants,” he challenges.

Daryl looks down the length of his body then back up and Rick and shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Rick thinks Daryl might be fishing and he uses it as an opening. “Are you sayin’ you want me to buy you dinner?” He asks casually even though the knot that’s taken up residence in the pit of his stomach is anything but casual.

Daryl shrugs again. “Don’t gotta.”

Rick shrugs back. “Was goin’ to anyway.”

Daryl props himself up on both elbows now, aware that he’s still naked while Rick is fully clothed but he doesn’t care. In fact he’s very much enjoying it. He’s also aware that Rick said he was planning to _buy him dinner_ , not planning to _ask_.

“That so?”

“Yeah. But you don’t gotta,” he says, throwing Daryl’s words back at him. 

“But if I wanna, is it a date?” he asks.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Rick answers.

“So if I want it to be a date?” 

The wicked little gleam in his eye tells Rick he’s fucking with him and he has to laugh. Clearly Daryl wants to go out with him but he’s going to make him work for it. He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Damn man, why you gotta be such a brat? You wanna go out with me or not?”

Daryl’s smirk turns into a shit eating grin and he tilts his head. “Hell yeah, jus’ wanted ya to ask me proper is all.”

Rick rolls his eyes dramatically. “Fine. Fancy or casual?”

Now Daryl rolls his eyes. “Man I’m a glorified groundskeeper. I look like I do fancy?”

“Good, I’d rather do casual anyway,” Rick says. “Pizza and beer?”

“Rhee’s?” Daryl asks. “’Cause they’re the best.”

“Of course.”

“A’right then.”

“Okay then.” Rick walks to the door and rests his hand on the knob as he turns back to Daryl and checks his watch. “It’s five thirty now. Meet you there at six thirty?” he asks.

“Make it seven.” With renewed energy he hops down off the table and reaches for his clothes. “I live further out and I’m gonna need another shower,” he smirks. 

A smile splits Rick’s face and he laughs. “See you at seven.”

He closes the door behind him and Daryl can’t help grinning to himself. If he’d only known it’d be that simple he would’ve asked Rick out a long time ago. Like Beth told him to. Fuck. That girl just loved being right.

Actually this time he loved Beth being right, too, and he’s immensely relieved that he’s not going to have to cuss her out.

 

Rick doesn’t need a shower but he does need to change clothes. He thinks back over the last hour and a half and he doesn’t regret one single minute of it. The only thing he does regret is waiting so long to make it happen. He hopes tonight turns out just as well. 

He wants so much more with Daryl than sex, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want that too.

Lots of that.

Starting tonight.

Although his dick had gone down a while ago he still feels the heat and the ache in his gut but he can deal with it. He knows the longer he waits the better it will feel when he finally gets to come. 

Where he gets to come remains to be seen. 

xxxxxxxxxx

 

Daryl is pacing the length of his deck, fingers nervously drumming his thighs. His thumb goes to his mouth and he immediately removes it, already bitten tender on the ride home. He digs his phone from his pocket and checks the time like he has every five minutes since he’s been home. He’d showered and dressed in record time but now he wishes he’d taken his time. Or agreed to meet Rick at six-thirty. Fuck. He still has thirty minutes to kill. He’s pretty sure the next thirty minutes are going to kill him.

He’s never been as anxious to see the man as he is right now.

He stuffs his phone back in one pocket and pulls his cigarettes out of the other, catching his reflection in the glass of the massive back window as he stops pacing long enough to light one. He’s never given one ounce of thought to his appearance. He’s always figured as long as he washes his ass once a day and wears clean underwear he’s good to go. Now here he is studying himself in the glass like a teenage girl on prom night wondering about his clothes.

To be fair, his choices are pretty limited – t-shirt and jeans, holes or no holes, stains or no stains. None of his shirts have sleeves except a few worn out flannels he uses for hunting, so that wasn’t even an option. He’d finally settled on his favorite Led Zeppelin concert tee and black jeans – no stains, no holes – and his boots. His hair is a mess as usual, but at least it’s a clean mess. It’ll have to do. Rick said casual, right? He knows it shouldn’t matter. Rick’s a guy that couldn’t care less what you wear or where you work or where you come from. Rick’s one of the few people that has looked past all of that and seen _him_.

That’s why it matters though. It’s Rick.

He doesn’t want Rick to think that he knows absolutely fuck-all about dating, which he doesn’t. He’s never dated anyone in his life. Never even been on _a_ date.

There was the one guy a few years ago that he fucked on the regular, but they didn’t date. They fucked. Regularly, but never a date. Never even cracked open a cold one and toasted to a decent romp in the sheets on a Friday night. He’s had a lot of one night stands, a few two night stands if he was drunk enough.

It’s been more than a year since he’s even had that. The last guy that came onto him in a bar was a disgusting low life even by Dixon standards. Hell he’s stepped over a lot better than that guy looking for a place to jerk off. He had a glazed, creepy look in his eyes and he was a little too handsy.

He and Merle may have accidentally started a bar fight that night.

After that Rick had caught his attention. Then he caught Lil’ D’s attention and Daryl was a goner. He lost interest in anybody else.

So yeah. He can fit everything he knows about dating on the head of a pin.

He checks his phone again. Well, he’s doing better. Seven minutes have passed this time. He resumes his pacing and lights another cigarette. He’s well aware that there’s plenty of time left for this to go south.

He’s hoping the ride back into town on his bike will help calm his ass down. It usually does, which is the main reason he’s decided to take it. Well, that and the fact that the air conditioning in his truck is on the fritz again and despite the late hour it’s still plenty warm outside.

He might know fuck all about dating but he does know two things: you don’t show up late and you don’t show up sweating like a June bride in a featherbed.

He puts the cigarette out and goes inside, by the time he takes a piss it’ll be time to go. He’s leaving the bathroom when he stops and ducks his head, sniffing to make sure he put on deodorant. He did, but it’s hot, so he puts on a little more because…well…just to be sure.

He grabs his vest and keys and by the time he’s getting on his bike excitement is taking the place of nerves and he feels damn near giddy. He grins to himself and thinks he should probably feel a little silly. Giddy is for girls. 

 

Fuck it. Give him a tiara and call him Princess. He’s got a date with Rick Grimes.

 

It doesn’t take Rick long to get home and change, which gives him an hour to worry and pace and let his nerves get the best of him. Daryl seemed excited about going out with him, had even made Rick clarify that it is, in fact, a date. But what if that was just his post-orgasm haze talking? You can get a man to do just about anything right after he blows his load, right?

He turns on the TV. That lasts all of five minutes before he shuts it off and wanders to the kitchen and back. He can’t even say now what was on.

He makes two trips upstairs to his bedroom to second guess what he’s wearing, finally deciding the t-shirt he has on is fine. He would be surprised to see Daryl wearing anything but a t-shirt. Back downstairs for the second time he takes a quick look in the mirror hanging over the table in the small foyer. The condo is warmer than he usually keeps it and he doesn’t need to start sweating now, his curls will be everywhere.

If this turns out the way he’s hoping Daryl will be coming home with him tonight. It’s definitely too warm in here for…well…nothing _has_ to happen if Daryl doesn’t want it to. Just to be sure he adjusts the thermostat then returns to the living room. He goes back and adjusts it again then goes back to flop on the couch.

It’s when he’s straightened the few books on the coffee table for the umpteenth time and finds himself wiping down the kitchen counter for at least the third time, having lost count of how many times he’s looked at the clock, that he finally decides he’s done acting like a teenager going on his first date and snatches up his keys.

He has plenty of time to make a stop before he meets Daryl.

He parks and goes into the pharmacy, immediately searching out the family planning aisle. He finds what he’s looking for and ignores the knowing look from his friend and pharmacist/owner Aaron. He tosses a wave in his direction and makes his way to the register at the front. He gets the same look from the clerk, Aaron’s husband, Eric, and ignores it as well. He exchanges a few friendly words before escaping back out to his truck.

If his face feels a little warm it’s probably the lingering heat of the day.

Back in his truck he puts one – no, better make it two – of the condoms in his wallet and slips the small packet of lube into his pocket. Just in case. The clock on the dash reads six forty-seven. He’s got plenty of time.

He pulls into the lot at Rhee’s and parks in the far corner that’s shaded by two tall oaks. Six fifty. Shit. That’s not too early, right?

What does he know anyway? He may have been the one to ask Daryl out – technically – but the last time he actually dated was his senior year of college and then he was married for ten years. Date night was never a thing.

He couldn’t even count that guy a couple of years ago. Not really. They didn’t date. They hung out at either his place or Rick’s off and on for around three months. Even the sex was mediocre at best. He doesn’t even remember who called it off or if it just kind of faded away, but he hasn’t missed it once. The last few months, okay closer to a year now, he’s been too…preoccupied…to think about dating. Too busy watching a certain maintenance supervisor and pining away for what he thought he couldn’t have. 

Until today.

Six fifty-five. He scrubs his hands over his face as the irrational worry that Daryl might not show starts up again. Thinking conversation with Glenn and Maggie might distract his thoughts he decides to go on in. As he locks the truck he hears the rumble of a motorcycle’s engine and looks over to see Daryl idling at the light. His shoulders almost sag with relief. He walks around and settles himself against the tailgate, arms and ankles crossed, and watches Daryl maneuver through the intersection and pull into the lot. 

The sight of him naked on a massage table coming all over himself is still the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, but this is a very close second.

The Harley is sleek black and shiny chrome and Daryl looks like he belongs on it, like he’s a part of it. He looks him over from his head to his feet, but when his eyes start the return trip up they get stuck on the spot where his thighs cradle the machine. Before the dirty part of his brain that now knows what those thighs look and feel like bare and trembling can get too carried away, his eyes reluctantly continue their trek. Even with his eyes hidden behind the helmet’s visor he can tell Daryl is watching him just as intently. He can feel it. He’s never seen the leather vest but he likes it. As Rick expected he’s wearing a t-shirt and the sleeves are missing.

There is a God.

Above everything else he notices that his nerves are settling. Now that Daryl is here and he sees him he’s able to relax a little. He showed up and that’s all he cares about right now.


	3. The Dirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags have been added!
> 
> Thanks again for all the reads, reviews, kudos and kind words! I'm so glad y'all have enjoyed this!
> 
> Let's see how this date works out.

When Daryl pulls in and spots him leaning against his truck he releases a breath and feels himself relax. Rick hasn’t changed his mind so far and he’s here and Daryl feels like he can do this. 

He takes his time parking then shutting the bike down and securing it, thankful that his eyes are hidden behind the visor as he takes in Rick’s lean form. He’s watching Daryl just as intently as Daryl is watching him.

Realizing that he’s never had the pleasure of seeing Rick in anything other than work clothes, he wonders how it’s possible for him to look that good in a plain gray t-shirt, and thinks it should be a sin for any man to wear a pair of jeans that well. Don’t even get him started on those scuffed cowboy boots that go oh so nicely with those cute bowed legs.

His gaze eventually returns to Rick’s face and he’s not surprised to be met with sky blue eyes. He thinks it should feel awkward for both of them to be staring so openly but it’s not. Instead he’s slightly amused.

Rick’s too long curls are mostly tame in the lingering heat and his scruffy beard is a little longer than Rick normally keeps it but Daryl likes it. In fact, he’s suddenly sure he’d fight tigers in the dark with a switch to feel that beard rubbing the insides of his thighs raw. His cock stirs with interest at that thought and he looks away and busies himself with removing his helmet.

_Dammit not now Lil’ D. At least let me get through this with a little dignity._

The helmet comes off and those indigo eyes are boring into Rick’s. He absently wonders if he’s always had a thing for bad boys or if it’s just Daryl and he can’t help but smile. He’s surprised to see Daryl return it with one of his own and he nods once in greeting. It’s hardly more than a twitch of his lips but Rick sees it and his nerves settle even more.

Wondering why he was ever so nervous to begin with and feeling calmer than he has since he left the showers that afternoon he pushes off the tailgate and walks over to Daryl.

 

Rick looks as confident and at ease as he ever does and Daryl’s feeling a little like an idiot for worrying so much as he watches him saunter over. Yeah. Not only does he _caress_ , he _saunters_ , and Daryl wonders again how he’s the lucky bastard that gets to be here with all of that.

He stops in front of Daryl and tries his best to appear casual. “Hey man, let’s get in out of the heat. Hungry?”

Daryl shrugs. “I could eat.”

Rick chuckles and turns to go inside, Daryl falling into step beside him. The man could be starving to death and that would be his answer.

 

Rick opens the door and steps back to let Daryl go in ahead of him, eyeing the angel wings on the back of his vest (and possibly his ass) and liking it even more (the vest and his ass). He might be wearing wings on his back but Rick’s pretty sure the man’s no angel. In fact now he’s willing to bet the man can be downright unholy when he wants to be. 

The air conditioning hits them like cold water to the face and Daryl’s grateful for it. Even with riding in on the bike his palms are a little sweaty and he’s still wondering if he used enough deodorant.

His appreciation for the cooler temperature is short lived though when he spots Maggie standing at the end of the counter waiting to greet them. The smile she’s wearing might look like a “Welcome to Rhee’s” kind of smile to anybody else but it tells Daryl a whole different story.

 

When he’d made a beeline out of the massage room earlier he’d almost run smack into Beth coming up the hall with an armload of clean towels, wearing that “innocent but don’t you believe it” look. Before she could say anything he’d wiped that look right off her face when he’d grabbed it with both hands and pressed a firm, quick kiss right to her lips. She’d been momentarily stunned but recovered quickly.

“Daryl, what the…? Um…that was an awfully long massage,” she’d said with that sweet smile.

“Gotta go, Beth,” was all he’d said as he stepped around her and hurried down the short hall. 

“Daryl Dixon ya get back here!” she’d hollered after him but he’d only thrown his hand up in a wave.

“Gotta go!” and he’d disappeared into the stairwell, taking the stairs down two at a time before she could catch up with him and corner him.

 

Beth has no idea he was coming to Rhee’s, but he knows sure as God made little green apples that that little so-and-so has already called her sister and filled her in on there’s no telling what, because all Beth knows is that Rick gave Daryl a massage. He knows the sisters love him, but he also knows they love ganging up on him even more.

Glenn walks over and hands them each a beer, not bothering with glasses because he knows they’ll drink it straight from the bottle. Where Maggie isn’t bothering to hide her grin, Glenn is trying so hard to play it cool he looks constipated.

Daryl looks over at Rick and Rick looks back at him and not only does Rick not seem bothered by their behavior, but damn if he ain’t grinning like a mule eating briars, too.

For a split second Daryl doesn’t care much for any of them.

It’s Glenn that he fixes with his patented glare though, mostly because he’s the only one it seems to work on anymore. It does this time too, and Glenn clears his throat nervously as he nudges Maggie with his elbow. She nudges him back a little harder.

“Um…hey guys. Large, all the way?” he asks.

“Yeah, that’ll work.” Daryl answers for both of them, eyes still slightly narrowed at him. He knows by now what Rick eats on his pizza, and somehow that knowledge feels different to him now.

He follows Rick to the far corner of the restaurant and they settle in on opposite sides of a booth. It’s a little weird not to be sitting around a bunch of tables pushed together with a crowd of people, and even though he immediately misses Rick sitting next to him with their thighs pressed together, he decides he likes this better. With Rick across from him he can look his fill. He figures they’re past the point of sneaking glances.

The conversation is as easy as ever and they’re both glad for that. They trade horror stories from the previous work week and Rick recounts his run-in with Mrs. Niedermeyer. 

“Pssh. Good thing I don’t work over there with y’all,” Daryl comments. Rick has to laugh because he knows if anybody is going to point out to Mrs. Niedermeyer the error of her ways it would be Daryl Dixon.

Rick does most of the talking and he doesn’t mind. He knows Daryl is a man of few words but he’s the best listener he’s ever known. He’ll talk if there’s something that bears saying but he’s generally quiet.

Before long Maggie makes her way to their table with the tray holding the pizza balanced on one hand and plates and silverware balanced on the other. She sets the plates on the table but continues to hold the pizza as she looks from Daryl to Rick and back to Daryl again, as if she’ll only give them their food in exchange for information. Daryl narrows his eyes at her.

“Put the pizza down and walk away, Maggs,” he says.

“But, Daryl…”

“Maggs,” he warns. “And can we get a couple of Cokes? Please?”

“Fine,” she huffs. She sets the pizza in the center of the table, spins on her heel a little too dramatically Daryl thinks, and walks back to the kitchen. She sends Glenn back with their Cokes.

 

 

Rick is watching Daryl as he eats. It’s hard not to really when he’s doing that thing. That thing where after every other bite he sticks his fingers in his mouth and…sucks. When they’re with other people it’s easy to look away, turn his attention to something else. Not so much when it’s staring him right in the face. As he watches he absently wonders if Daryl is one of those people who really enjoy giving head or if he doesn’t care much for it. From where he’s sitting he’d be damn good at it and it would be a real waste for him not to enjoy it. He swallows thickly.

Dammit. Caddie. Mullet. Speedo. 

That works for now – mostly – but he thinks he’s going to have to come up with something worse than that if Daryl doesn’t finish eating soon.

He doesn’t realize he’s outright staring at Daryl’s mouth until the other man clears his throat. Rick looks up to meet his eyes just as Daryl slides his middle finger between his lips, sucks, and pulls it free with a noisy ‘pop’.

Fucker.

“What?” Daryl asks.

Rick is not fooled for a second by his innocent act and he tilts his head. “You know you do that a lot. Always got somethin’ in your mouth. Pen, pencil, toothpick, blade of grass. You even chew on the filter of a cigarette before you light it.”

Daryl shrugs. “Guess I just like stuff in my mouth.”

Well shit.

He hadn’t meant it the way it sounded but the words are out there and he can’t take them back. He decides they’re just fine where they are though when he sees Rick’s eyes darken and the way he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Rick’s eyes flit down to Daryl’s mouth then back up. “Uh huh. Good to know,” he says with a grin. 

They’re quiet again, and if both men eat a little faster they either don’t notice or they choose to ignore it.

Daryl drops his barely used napkin in his plate and looks at Rick. They stare at each other across the table for a few beats then move at the same time, both standing hastily and reaching for their wallets.

“I got the check,” Rick says.

“Got the tip,” Daryl says at the same time.

They toss the money on the table and hurry towards the door. Seeing their obvious rush to leave, neither Glenn nor Maggie bother to hide their stupid smiles this time. At least Glenn has the good sense to keep his mouth shut. Maggie not so much.

“Where’re you two off to in such a hurry?” she asks wide-eyed and grinning like a fool.

“Goodnight,” they answer in unison then they’re out the door.

They stop beside Rick’s truck and Rick is looking at him again. It’s just this side of dark now but the lights scattered across the small parking lot are bright enough that Daryl can see he’s mulling something over.

“What’s up man?” he asks.

Rick rubs at the scruff of beard on his cheek and looks almost sheepish.

“I was just thinkin’…now that we’ve had dinner I was just wonderin’ if I should…kiss you.”

Daryl’s amazed at how quickly the man has gone from sure of himself to having the nerves of a school boy but he doesn’t hesitate, half-hard already at the mere thought.

“Think ya should,” he says.

Rick offers a soft smile and steps into Daryl’s space. At first it’s nothing more than the soft brush of Rick’s lips against his, but it causes his breath to hitch all the same. He presses forward and Rick tilts his head, their mouths slotting together in a perfect fit.

He’s more insistent now and Daryl reaches for his hip and pulls Rick flush against him, which incidentally is also a perfect fit. His mouth falls open and the kiss goes from ‘zero’ to ‘take your clothes off’ pretty quickly when Rick’s tongue slips in to curl suggestively around his own. He’s been kissed before but no one has ever kissed him as filthy as Rick is right now. He’s practically fucking his mouth with his tongue and Daryl pulls him in closer, trying like hell not to grind his erection against Rick’s hip.

If Rick means this as a goodnight kiss Daryl’s going to lose his shit.

Rick breaks the kiss to mouth along Daryl’s jaw to his neck then nips at the sensitive spot right below his earlobe. The soft, warm puffs of breath against his clammy skin are like little fingers of electricity sending tiny, sharp pulses straight to his balls. He gives in, or loses the battle more like, and grinds against Rick. Rick’s mouth is back on his but only for a second before he stops long enough to speak.

“I don’t know a lot about datin’, Daryl,” he confesses. He licks into Daryl’s mouth once and grinds back then Daryl answers.

“Know more than me then.” He nips at Rick’s plump bottom lip.

“Heard you’re supposed to wait until at least the third date before you have sex, or some such nonsense,” Rick says.

Daryl sucks the tip of Rick’s tongue between his lips and Rick groans softly. “Yeah, nonsense,” he says.

“Hmm,” Rick hums into his mouth. “How many times have we eaten lunch together?” he stops kissing him long enough to ask.

Daryl’s mouthing at Rick’s neck now. “Fuck. A lot,” he answers.

“We did…mmm…have dinner together tonight,” Rick reasons.

Daryl licks along the hollow of Rick’s throat. “Ya did already jack me off,” he supplies.

“Tantric massage,” Rick kisses him again, grinning against his lips.

“Whatever.”

“So, you wouldn’t think I was moving too fast if I asked you to come home with me?” Rick asks hopefully.

Daryl leans back to look at him. Part of him can’t believe, even with how they spent the afternoon, that Rick actually wants to take him home. The other part can’t believe Rick thinks there’s even a remote possibility that he’ll say no.

“Shit, we been on as many dates as ya say we have, I think ya shoulda fucked me already.”

“No idea what I was thinkin’,” Rick smiles. “Follow me then?”

A thought occurs to Daryl and he pauses. “Wait.”

Rick pauses too, and panics a little at the thought that Daryl has suddenly changed his mind. He watches and waits for him to continue.

“Don’tcha live in a condo?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah.”

“Like, one of them attached-to-your-neighbor, pre fab, paper thin walls kinda condos?” Daryl clarifies.

“Yeah. Why?” Rick asks, now thoroughly confused. Daryl levels him with a look that makes his stomach flutter although he’s unsure why.

“Jus’ wonderin’ if ya’s plannin’ on introducin’ me to all your neighbors tonight s’all,” Daryl says matter-of-factly. His voice is huskier now and it sends another flutter through Rick’s belly. This time he knows why.

Oh.

He grins at Daryl and arches an eyebrow. “You plannin’ on gettin’…vocal?”

Daryl shrugs and runs his fingers over his chin. “If by vocal ya mean actual words, prob’ly not. But somethin’ like that,” he says and grins right back. 

Huh. Who would’ve thought Daryl Dixon was a screamer? 

“Don’t you have a place on the lake?” Rick asks.

“Yep.”

“No close neighbors?”

“’Bout half a mile,” Daryl says.

“Guess I’m followin’ you then.”

“Ya can,” Daryl says, eyeing his bike. “Or, ya can ride with me and I’ll bring you back for your truck tomorrow.”

Rick turns to look at the bike then back to Daryl. “You invitin’ me to breakfast, Dixon?”

“Yep.”

“Extra helmet?” Rick asks.

“Saddlebag.” Daryl nods towards the bike.

“Bring it on purpose?”

“Maybe.” Daryl says with a half grin, looking guilty as charged.

Rick’s smile widens. “Let me grab my phone.” He rounds his truck to retrieve his phone from the cab and Daryl fishes his own out of his pocket to shoot Maggie a quick text.

**Leaving Rick’s truck here. Be back for it tomorrow. – D**

He can almost see her eyes bugging out when she reads it and immediately regrets not texting Glenn instead. He fires off another one to her.

**Shut up. – D**

 

Daryl hands Rick the extra helmet and watches as he pulls it on, thinking he looks as eager as a kid on Christmas morning.

“Ever been on one?” he asks.

“Yeah, but not since college,” Rick answers as he adjusts the strap under his chin.

“So ya know what your doin’ then?” 

Rick nods as Daryl gets on then swings his leg over and settles in behind him. The bike rumbles to life and Rick slides his arms around Daryl’s waist. 

“Too tight?” he asks in Daryl’s ear.

“Tight as ya want, man,” Daryl answers and pulls out of the parking lot. He can feel the excitement coming off of Rick, but whether it’s from the ride or because of the fact that he’s taking him to his place he doesn’t know. Maybe both. Either way, Daryl can feel Rick’s enthusiasm nestled firmly against his ass.

 

He’s never had anyone on the back of his bike, not even his brother. It doesn’t take long for him to decide that he doesn’t like anyone else behind him…except Rick. He’s trying hard to keep his thoughts from straying and focus on getting to the cabin. His plans for tonight don’t include him driving them off the road. He speeds up and takes the curves hell bent for leather, feeling Rick tuck closer against his back. Any closer and he’ll be in front of him but Daryl thinks that would be just fine.

There are no street lights this far out. The only things Rick can see from his position behind Daryl are the road in front of them and the trees rushing past, more like vague shapes reflected back in the glow of the headlight. With the rumble of the bike and Daryl nestled between his thighs, his chest planted firmly against his back, Rick’s not sure how much more he can take. It’s an effort not to hump his ass at this point just to get some relief, but he wants them to get there in one piece so he forces himself to sit still.

Daryl pulls into the driveway and parks at the back of the cabin. Neither of them waste time, climbing off quickly and pulling their helmets off. The only thing Rick can make out beyond the deck, where Daryl at least had the forethought to leave the porch light on, is the edge of the lake and a small dock barely visible in the moonlight. If it weren’t for the crickets and the tree frogs he thinks the silence would be deafening. It’s like they’re in their own little bubble out here and it’s only taken the handful of minutes they’ve been here for Rick to realize he’s not too keen on ever having to leave.

They cross the deck and Daryl unlocks the door, relocking it as soon as they’re inside and turning off the outside light. Rick barely has time to take in the simply furnished, tidy living room before Daryl has shucked his vest and dropped it and his keys on the coffee table. Then all he knows is Daryl pressed against him kissing him breathless, one hand fisted in his curls and the other around his waist pulling him close. It only takes Rick’s brain a second to catch up and he winds an arm around Daryl’s broad shoulders and kisses him back like he’ll never get the chance again.

Daryl’s done. He’s done with the flirting and the dating do’s and don’ts and most of all he’s done fucking waiting. He’s wanted this for months and by now he’s pretty sure Rick didn’t just wake up this morning and all of a sudden decide it’s what he wants either. He’s wound tighter than a two dollar watch and at this point it’s a foregone conclusion they’re going to end up naked in his bed.

As if reading his mind Rick breaks the kiss and backs up far enough to pull Daryl’s t-shirt over his head then he’s mouthing and licking a wet trail along Daryl’s neck until he finds that spot. He nips at the tender skin there and Daryl whines softly.

Daryl’s hands are grabbing at the hem of Rick’s shirt and Rick stops again long enough to take it off. Daryl bends to untie his boots but never takes his eyes off Rick. He takes in the lean muscle, the hair on his chest that he can’t help wanting to nuzzle his face into. Rick’s shoulders aren’t as broad as his own but they’re strong and perfect and he decides that before Rick leaves here he’s going to have his mouth on every inch of him.

Rick has kicked off his own boots and he reaches for Daryl’s belt buckle, using it to yank him back against him. He dips his head and kisses his way across his broad chest, the tip of his tongue dragging across the tattoo above his heart. For the life of him he can’t remember what it says but he thinks it tastes like the lake and the woods and Daryl. 

It’s his new favorite flavor.

Daryl’s heart is racing and his breath stutters at the scrape and sting of Rick’s beard against his skin. His lips close around his nipple and he sucks hard, and Daryl is well aware of how unmanly the strangled squeak that escapes his throat is. Before he can be properly embarrassed though, Rick’s teeth close around the hardened nub until it’s almost painful. Daryl barely has time to realize that apparently his nipples are also directly connected to his cock before any blood left feeding his brain rushes south and his cock throbs. The strangled squeak becomes a louder whine but this time he doesn’t have it in him to care.

By now Daryl can feel his cock leaking and as much as he’s enjoying Rick’s mouth he’s sure if he doesn’t get on with it he’s going to drag him to the bedroom by his feet. He pulls Rick upright and into a kiss and Rick makes quick work of Daryl’s belt and then the button and zipper of his jeans. They slide to the floor to pool at his feet as Rick’s hands settle on his hips – and he freezes. He pulls away from Daryl only far enough to look down and take in his lack of underwear, then looks back up with a half grin and a question in his eyes.

“What?” Daryl asks with a shrug. “One less thing in the way.”

Rick’s hand slides between them where he teases one finger along the underside of Daryl’s cock from base to tip.

“So…you were expectin’ this would happen?” Rick asks with a slight tilt of his head.

Daryl drags in a slow hiss between his teeth. “Are ya kiddin’ me? I was countin’ on it, and if ya try and tell me ya weren’t I’m callin’ bullshit.”

Rick ducks his head and turns his eyes back up to meet Daryl’s. “I was damn sure hopin’ like hell.”

He reaches for Rick’s belt but Rick stops him. Daryl narrows his eyes but before he can ask Rick nods once in the direction of the hallway.

“Bedroom,” he says. It’s not a question.

Daryl turns and remembers his jeans are around his ankles at the last second, barely stepping out of them in time to avoid busting his ass. He leads Rick in the direction of the bedroom and Rick hears him grumble something about “bossy” under his breath. 

He flips on the small bedside lamp and turns just as Rick’s arms encircle his waist. He presses his face into Daryl’s neck only this time he’s not using his tongue or his lips or his teeth, he’s nuzzling his neck and breathing him in. 

Daryl backs Rick up until his ass meets the dresser hard enough to rattle the mirror that’s barely attached to begin with. Rick’s eyes go wide but Daryl doesn’t give him a chance to protest, instead kissing him with every ounce of desire and need he has in him.

“Wanna taste ya,” he breathes out, sucking Rick’s bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling softly before he lets go. “Lose the pants.”

Rick is quick to get his pants open and down and as he’s stepping out of them it’s Daryl’s turn to freeze. Admittedly the first thing to catch his eye is the nice sized tent in the front, and the fact that Rick looks downright tasty in black boxer briefs. Unfortunately, that’s not what holds his attention. What really catches his eye is the tiny golf ball print, scattered throughout with little golf clubs and Daryl can’t hide his grin.

Too late, Rick realizes what he’s wearing and his cheeks turn pink but he’s grinning, too.

“Today’s laundry day and I was at work so…” he trails off.

Now Daryl’s eyes are drawn to Rick’s reflection in the mirror and he can’t hold back a chuckle. Printed across Rick’s ass in white letters are the words “HOLE IN ONE”.

“Ya think I’d need directions?” he asks, waving a finger at the words in the mirror.

Rick turns and looks over his shoulder and remembers the real reason he tries to never wear these. His cheeks flush even pinker and he turns back to Daryl.

“They were a gag gift,” he shrugs.

“Oh, they’re cute,” Daryl assures him. “I like ‘em, I jus’ can’t believe ya had the…balls to wear ‘em.”

Rick rolls his eyes but laughs anyway. “Okay smartass. I think I remember you tellin’ me you like stuff in your mouth.” He drops his boxers and kicks them off. “There. Less sass, more suckin’.”

Daryl doesn’t say a word, just goes to the bed and stretches out across it. He stuffs a pillow underneath his head and looks over at Rick. 

“C’mere then.”

Rick follows and crawls up beside him and Daryl immediately takes his leg and pulls it up and over his chest. Realizing what Daryl has in mind, Rick straddles his chest and scoots forward until the head of his cock rests against his mouth. Daryl trails his tongue along his bottom lip, licking away the trail of pre cum, then lets his mouth fall open.

“Fuck, Daryl,” Rick whispers and slides just the head in. Daryl’s not satisfied with that and grips his ass to pull him forward. He doesn’t stop until he feels Rick at the back of his throat.

Rick hisses through his teeth and moans low in his throat, eyes wide as he watches Daryl relax his throat and his cock disappear completely. Daryl wedges a hand between them to cup and lift his balls, his tongue flicking out to tease one and then the other. Rick has to close his eyes against the sight to keep from spilling down Daryl’s throat.

Daryl’s hands settle on his hips and Rick instantly understands what he wants. His thrusts are hesitant at first, unsure how much Daryl can take and unwilling to hurt him, but Daryl is guiding him and it’s not long before he’s fucking into his mouth with long, smooth strokes. Daryl’s muffled moans mingle with his own and Rick opens his eyes and looks down. Daryl’s lips are stretched wide around him, cheeks hollowed and eyes watering, his tongue swirling and fluttering along his length. His eyes are locked on Rick’s, something in the way he’s looking at him that Rick can’t quite read but he can’t even try because nobody’s ever sucked him off like this before. 

Rick was right, he is damn good at it, and thank God he’s one of those that enjoy it.

“Jesus, Daryl that mouth...knew you’d be good at that...fuck you suck my cock so good.”

Rick’s not as big as him but he’s no slouch either and it’s getting harder for Daryl to draw a breath around the thick length. He’ll be damned if he’s stopping though, it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He’s watching Rick’s pleasure play across his face and feels his cheeks clench with every roll of his hips and he sure as hell ain’t going to complain if Rick wants to finish down his throat. They have all night, hell they have the next two days. 

He can feel Daryl’s hips buck behind him, thrusting against nothing. Daryl hums long and low and it vibrates straight through his balls to his ass, but when he swallows hard around him Rick has to pull out completely. He squeezes the base of his cock and has to chuckle at Daryl’s whine of protest.

“Dammit, man. Gotta stop or it’s gonna be all over but the shoutin’,” he pants out.

Daryl licks and smacks his lips and looks pretty satisfied with himself.

Rick only takes a minute to get himself under control then he asks, “Lube and condom?” He’s hoping Daryl has them because he really doesn’t want to leave the bed to dig through his pants.

“Top drawer,” Daryl answers slightly out of breath and points to the bedside table.

Rick climbs off of Daryl and crawls only far enough to stretch and reach the drawer. When he turns back with the items in his hand Daryl is watching him, chewing his lip and looking serious. He’s suddenly worried he’s done something wrong although he has no idea what it could be.

“What is it?” he asks.

Daryl takes a long look at the condom Rick’s holding then back up at Rick. “M’good, Rick. Know for a fact m’good. S’up to you.”

Rick studies the condom in his hand then grins at Daryl, tossing it back on the nightstand. “I’m good, too.”

He knee walks back across the bed and drops the lube on the blanket, settling himself between Daryl’s legs and reaching for the pillow under his head.

“Lift up,” he instructs.

Daryl lifts his hips – and keeps lifting. He rolls back over himself and Rick stares wide eyed when he just keeps going. By the time he settles he’s damn near folded in half, his knees nearly touching the mattress on either side of his head.

“Holy shit you’re bendy.”

Daryl huffs out a laugh effortlessly despite the position he’s in and Rick wonders how he can even breathe.

“I know,” Daryl answers with a cocky tone.

Rick shakes his head and wedges the pillow meant to support his hips nearly underneath his shoulders, then scoots forward until his thighs rest against the pillow to help prop him up. He’s treated to the sight of Daryl spread wide, literally right in his face practically begging to be touched and he wastes no time squeezing lube onto his fingers.

He traces a finger around the puckered rim, his touch feather light, and watches Daryl’s eyes drift closed and his entrance flutter and relax. Daryl’s lips are pressed together in a thin, tight line but he’s not trying to stifle his moan as Rick teases him.

“Fuck. C’mon, Rick…hhmm…”

He eases the tip of his finger inside, twisting, turning, pulling out again. Pushing back in slowly to repeat the motion, going a little deeper each time. Daryl groans and Rick can tell it’s from both pleasure and frustration. He finally lets it slip all the way in, twisting and searching and…there…he finds that sweet spot.

Daryl moans out a string of curses and his cock jerks hard, the pre cum gathered at the tip losing to gravity and dripping down to land on the scruff beneath his bottom lip. When he looks up Daryl meets his eyes and his gaze is steady. He cocks his head just slightly before his long, sinful tongue snakes out and licks the salty drop from his chin. Rick has a half second to wish he’d been the one to clean it up before Daryl’s tongue darts out again and… _fuck_ …licks along his slit, catching the next drop before it ever gets the chance to fall. 

Daryl sees the instant Rick connects the dots between how he knows he’s so flexible and what he’s learned he can do with it. There’s a tiny part of him that’s concerned that Rick might be disgusted by it but he knows he doesn’t have to worry when Rick’s blunt nails dig into his ass cheeks and a choked grunt is all he can manage. So Daryl doesn’t stop there. He figures Rick may as well find out now.

Daryl likes it dirty.

 

 _Jesus. Did he just…? Fuck_. He did. Rick can’t draw a breath and apparently Daryl’s not done yet. Apparently, Daryl is trying to kill him. He should have known, he thinks part of him expected it really. Still, you could have bought him for a song as he watches (because who could look away from that?) Daryl lean forward, then watches the head of his cock slip between his lips. 

Rick stares dumbfounded, more turned on than he’s ever been in his life. His breath leaves him in a rush, his whole body throbbing with want, and he can’t help grinding his own leaking erection against Daryl’s back.

Daryl lets out a muffled moan around a mouthful of cock and cranes his neck to take more of himself in. Admittedly it’s not much but he figures when you’re watching a guy suck his own dick even a little is more than enough. The look on Rick’s face is priceless. He’s glassy-eyed and slack jawed and Daryl can tell he has no idea yet what to do with what he’s seeing. He’s thinking Rick has about ten seconds to decide or it’s all over anyway when he appears to figure it out.

Rick leans forward and drags the flat of his tongue from the back of his ass, around the sensitive rim where his finger is still inside but not moving, and up to his balls. He takes one in his mouth, sucking and licking and rolling it against his tongue then moving to the other to do the same. 

Okay, he can have thirty seconds because fuck that feels _good_. He’s only ever done this solo but he thinks there’s something to be said for group participation.

He never takes his eyes off of Daryl, watching mesmerized as he sucks himself off. They’re both grunting and moaning now and Rick is lost in what he’s seeing and what he’s doing. He releases the taut little globe from his mouth and flicks his tongue across smooth skin until he reaches his ass. He withdraws his finger and, still looking at Daryl, runs the tip of his tongue around the puckered rim in slow, teasing circles. He laps at it and Daryl’s breathing picks up, the little puffs of air escaping through his nose getting louder and harsher. 

Rick places his hands on either side of his twitching hole and spreads him wider. Opening him up, slipping his tongue in. Just the tip, in and out flitting side to side and he’s sure Daryl would be squirming if he could. He slides it in deeper and Daryl cries out around his mouthful, taut muscles clenching and relaxing under Rick’s hands. 

Daryl wants to look away, hell he needs to or he’s going to lose it for sure, but he can’t. Sky blue eyes are locked on his and his tongue sinks deeper and holy Christ it feels like Rick’s writing his name in cursive on his insides. Then it’s gone and Rick is mouthing his way back up to his balls, his lips and tongue and the scrape of his beard lighting a fire between his thighs.

Rick feels the nudge of Daryl’s fingers against his throat and he reluctantly pulls away to look down. His mouth goes dry when Daryl slides his middle finger in his ass and begins working to open himself up. He’s trying hard to process that Daryl is filling both of his own holes at the same time and _holy shit_ the things he’s going to do to and with this man. His own cock is leaking down Daryl’s back and he needs to be inside him _right now_. 

Daryl can no longer concentrate on sucking himself off when he feels another finger slip in alongside his own. When Rick slides in a second finger then leans in and spits it’s almost Daryl’s undoing. He lets his dick fall from his mouth with a lewd slurp and groans loudly. He throws his head back and closes his eyes and somewhere between the pants and moans and the sighs and mewls the begging starts. 

“Fuck…ahh…Rick please…pleasepleaseplease…Rick…”

Rick thinks he could weep with joy over this beautiful, filthy gift he’s been given. He’s not even sure if Daryl’s aware of anything he’s saying. He would almost think he’s forgotten Rick’s here with him if he wasn’t whining his name.

Daryl’s free hand reaches around to his ass and he pulls himself open even wider at the same time that he’s trying to work his ring finger in to join the three already filling him up. He’s making a valiant effort to rock himself down onto those fingers and between his begging and his desperate wriggling Rick is not inclined to make either one of them wait any longer. 

He pulls his own fingers free, then Daryl’s, and hears his groan of protest. He pulls the pillow back far enough to ease him down and settle his hips on it, then guides Daryl’s hands to grab behind his knees. Daryl automatically pulls them up and back until his legs are spread impossibly wide. Rick’s not at all surprised what with the way he’d been curled in on himself like a damn pill bug moments before.

Rick shuffles forward until his thighs are tucked underneath Daryl’s ass and reaches for the lube. He looks up to see Daryl watching him intently as he slicks himself up. He arches an eyebrow and strokes himself a few more times, just because, then taps the swollen head of his cock against Daryl’s tender, puffy entrance as he whines pitifully.

“Dammit, Rick. I swear if ya don’t fuck me right now I’m throwin’ your sorry ass in the lake. Only thing gonna be nibblin’ on _your_ asshole is the damn fish. Please, Rick.”

There isn’t much venom behind the threat to begin with, but that sweet ‘please’ at the end makes it impossible for Rick not to do as he’s asked. He presses in, slips past the tight ring of muscle and Daryl releases a breath and moans loudly. He slides in all the way and the moan is louder, rumbling deep in his chest. 

Rick lets out his own long groan because _fuck_ it’s the tightest thing he’s ever felt and how in the _hell_ did they fit four fingers in there? He holds himself completely still in an effort not to humiliate himself. Daryl’s ass, however, has other ideas and it clenches tightly, as if it’s trying to suck every drop of cum from his balls. Without thinking he lands a hard smack to Daryl’s ass and instantly freezes, not sure if he’s going to appreciate that or not. Daryl moans again and rolls his hips against him, squeezing tight, and Rick isn’t really surprised at his reaction after all. He thinks he probably should have expected that, too. 

“Quit it.” It’s a warning but he can’t help grinning at the man spread out beneath him. “Jesus, Daryl, you’re killin’ me. Keep that up and I don’t know if I can last as long as you’re hopin’.”

“Whatcha get for bein’ a tease, man. Don’t matter anyway, we got all night. Promise ya can spank me later, jus’ fuck me a’ready.”

Determined that if he’s going to come too soon he’s damn well going to be fucking Daryl when he does it, he pulls almost all the way out, then he’s balls deep in one long thrust.

“Fuck yes!” Daryl groans out through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t fuck him fast but his strokes are deep and forceful. He drops his hips slightly and with the next thrust he knows he’s hit his mark when Daryl’s whole body jerks and he yells.

“Ah shit, right there! Fuck me, Rick…c’mon!” 

Daryl’s dick is rock hard and bobbing with every roll of his hips, the head damn near purple and smearing a mess of pre-cum across his belly. Another hard thrust against his prostrate and he growls out, “C’mon, man…harder! That all ya got?”

He likes it rough, too.

Rick grins and pulls out and Daryl snaps his head up to glare at him. “The fuck?”

“Hands and knees,” Rick answers and scoots back far enough for Daryl to move and move he does, as if he can’t turn over fast enough.

Rick settles in behind him, curling himself over Daryl’s back, his voice like liquid sin in his ear. 

“Gonna fuck you so hard you’ll be walkin’ funny tomorrow.”

“Fuck that,” Daryl throws back. “Wanna be limpin’ when I go to work on Tuesday.”

Rick maneuvers them to the foot of the bed and places one of Daryl’s hands on the footboard and the other on the bed post, then bends his own right leg and plants his foot against the mattress.

“You’d better hang on then,” he says then lines himself up and slams into Daryl.

He doesn’t wait or even hesitate. He’s pounding into him hard and fast and all Daryl can think is _finally, somebody that ain’t afraid to fuck me like they mean it_. His ass is burning and stretching around Rick and it’s so fucking good. He shifts his grip on the footboard and spreads his knees wider. Rick wasn’t kidding when he said hang on and that’s all he can do because Rick isn’t letting up. Rick leans forward to grip the footboard, the fingers of his other hand digging into Daryl’s hip and they both hear a loud crack from somewhere under the bed. 

“Don’t ya fuckin’ stop,” Daryl warns before Rick can even slow up.

So he doesn’t. He figures as long as it doesn’t give way and throw them both off the end of the bed they’re good. He’s not sure he would stop even if it did.

It feels like Rick is trying to climb him like a tree, rutting into him with every powerful thrust. He feels him shift again and now he’s hammering into his prostate every time he snaps his hips. He’ll probably wear bruises on his hip tomorrow in the shape of Rick’s fingers. God he hopes so. Nothing has ever felt this good, so good it’s almost unbearable. He’s been to the edge and back more times than a cliff diver already and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. He’s nearly desperate to come but he doesn’t want it to end.

The only sounds in the room are the slap of skin every time Rick’s hips hit Daryl’s ass along with Rick’s own ragged breathing and moans and grunts, but above all of that is Daryl. Only he’s not moaning or grunting, but whining and whimpering and it’s like a song that Rick wants to play on repeat. Occasionally there are mumbled curses and words like _more_ and _harder_ and _Rick_. And he wasn’t lying – he’s loud.

His knuckles are white with the grip he has on the wood and he bucks and rolls his hips in a way that’s nothing short of sinful as he slams his ass back against Rick, matching him thrust for thrust. One minute his back arches perfectly, the next it bows like a Halloween cat and he’s fucking Rick every bit as hard as Rick’s fucking him.

Daryl couldn’t be riding him any prettier if he was sitting in his lap.

Rick is amazed. Daryl is always so quiet and reserved but right now he’s like a fucking wildcat and Rick loves it. He’s willing to bet not many people have had the privilege of seeing him like this and if Rick has anything to say about it no one else ever will. There’s no way he’s letting him go. Fisting a hand in Daryl’s hair he pulls him up and back against his chest and Daryl answers with a filthy moan and _don’t stop_. He’s slowed his pace just barely because of the position they’re now in but his thrusts are every bit as deep and powerful as before.

“Uh uh. Gonna fuck you til you either come or beg me to stop,” Rick breathes in his ear. “Christ almighty, Daryl…so fuckin’ tight…feel so fuckin’good…”

Daryl whines and shakes his head as much as he can with Rick still gripping his hair and Rick knows he means he’s not going to ask him to stop because he’s sure Daryl’s just as close as he is. He looks down at Daryl’s cock, dark red and leaking, jutting out in front of him.

“Touch yourself for me, sweetheart. Don’t want you to come yet but I want to watch you touch that pretty cock.”

Daryl mewls almost pitifully but doesn’t hesitate to wrap his fingers around his cock and start stroking. Rick can see that his fist is loose and he suspects that anything different would have him blowing his load.

He’s not sure he can handle how fucking perfect this man is right now.

Rick’s other hand is splayed across his stomach holding him in place, which is probably a good thing, but besides that Daryl has the vague thought that it feels like possession and safety and comfort.

Leave it to Rick to turn him into a damn poet while he’s fucking him into oblivion.

Rick’s breath stutters in his chest as he watches Daryl pleasure himself while he fucks into him. God he’s so fucking close, the tension and heat coiling in his gut are almost painful. Daryl’s breaths are ragged and getting shorter, he’s clenching and fluttering around Rick’s cock and his muscles are quivering with the effort of holding back.

Daryl can barely think and he feels like he’s burning up from the inside. It’s not just the steady push-pull-drag of Rick’s cock along his insides or the loose slide of his own fist over his aching dick. Rick’s words are like liquid fire running through him to settle low in his belly, white hot and almost unbearable. He’s never wanted to come so bad in his life. Fuck, he _needs_ to come.

But Rick wants him to wait, so he will.

He can.

Rick can’t hold back anymore. He reaches around to still Daryl’s hand and replaces it with his own, his fingers closing tightly around the base but not moving. Daryl lets out a frustrated grunt and reaches back to grab a handful of Rick’s sweaty curls, the fingers of his other hand digging into Rick’s hip, scrambling for something to hold on to.

Just before Rick loses it his voice is low and rough against Daryl’s ear. “Wanna see you come. Come for me.”

He tugs hard on Daryl’s cock, then once more and he hears his name on a keening moan. If that’s not music enough to his ears the man actually growls as streaks of white splash across the footboard, the blanket, Daryl’s thighs and Rick’s hand.

The sight would bring him to his knees if he weren’t already there.

Rick has a split second to be grateful they’re out here and that he’ll still be able to look his neighbors in the eye before Daryl’s back arches and his already impossibly tight channel clenches _hard_. He’s squeezing him so tightly mid-thrust that Rick thinks he might be stuck but he bears down and buries himself inside of Daryl the instant his release hits him like a speeding train. His cock throbs almost painfully as he empties deep inside of him, each swell and pulse culling one of those now quiet, adorable whimpers from Daryl until they both go still. 

This time Rick doesn’t hesitate to lick his fingers clean. He’s never tasted anything sweeter.

Daryl finally moves to flop forward onto his hands. He’s sure that he’s moving like a newborn calf trying to find his legs which makes sense because his bones are gone. He feels Rick ease him down to lie on the bed and he would thank him but it feels like his tongue is asleep.

Rick follows him down as he settles on his stomach, his lean frame draped over him but not quite touching. He’s glad of that because they’re both hot and sweaty and still panting like two dogs in the desert but he doesn’t want him to move. Rick’s still inside of him and his ass is sore and burning, but he’s not about to tell him to pull out because, well, he likes him there and that’s reason enough.

He can feel Rick peppering kisses across his shoulder and nuzzling against his neck, hears him murmuring softly. His brain has checked out which is nothing new. It usually does when he gets off and he just has to wait for it to check back in again. He can’t make out much of what Rick is saying but he thinks he hears the words _gorgeous_ and _perfect_ , and while his normal self wouldn’t agree with that assessment, the self that’s laying here in a well-fucked, post-nut gooey heap likes it just fine.

He thinks he might have dozed off for a minute – again not new – and when he comes around again Rick is helping him move to the top of the bed to settle on a pillow, and again he’s cleaning him up with a warm rag. This time he doesn’t worry that he could do it himself because he really likes when Rick does it.

Daryl’s on his back and Rick flops down beside him close enough that their shoulders are touching. Daryl’s brain has checked back in for the most part so he’s aware of himself again. He’s also aware that he has no idea what happens after tonight. As tired as he is – and between work and Rick he’s fucking exhausted – and as much as he wants to sleep, he has to know or he’ll lay awake all night wondering. He finally decides to just bite the bullet and ask.

“Hmph.” _Sigh. Real fuckin’ smart, Dixon_. In all fairness though, Rick was bound to know he wasn’t dealing with brilliance to begin with.

Rick turns his head to look at Daryl and finds him chewing the inside of his lip and he thinks the grunt was actually meant to be a question. Knowing Daryl will work it out, but also knowing the longer he stares the longer he’ll have to wait, he turns back to look at the ceiling. It only takes a minute for Daryl to speak.

“So…” Daryl starts. “Is…this a thing?” he asks hesitantly.

Rick smiles to himself, he figured that’s what Daryl was worrying about. For his part, Rick has already decided that this is absolutely a thing. But still.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he answers. “Do you want it to be a thing?”

“If I want it to be a thing…is it a _real_ thing?”

“If that’s…wait.” Rick turns to look at him again. “Are you waitin’ for me to ask you proper?”

Daryl shoots him a look then looks back to the ceiling. “Pssh. Hell naw, we ain’t in middle school. Was jus’ thinkin’, if it is a real thing I should prob’ly learn to give one of those fancy hand jobs. Ya know, return the favor.”

Rick huffs out a laugh. “Dammit, Daryl, it’s _tantric massage_.” He reaches over and hooks his pinky around Daryl’s and gives it a light squeeze.

Daryl feels a warmth in his chest and he thinks his heart may have actually fluttered because _that_. Whatever else has happened since Rick locked them in that room… _that_. So he squeezes back.

“Whatever.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tantric (It's a Thing) - Edit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497918) by [PixieReedus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixieReedus/pseuds/PixieReedus), [Rickyl_edits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rickyl_edits/pseuds/Rickyl_edits), [YeyaGrimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YeyaGrimes/pseuds/YeyaGrimes)




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